


Performance Anxiety

by CanonCannon



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Attempt at Romance, First Time, M/M, Making Out, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-14 17:09:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11212497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanonCannon/pseuds/CanonCannon
Summary: Paul, as obnoxiously handsome as ever, was being dragged towards Barrington House by a determined-looking Maggie. She had his sleeve in one hand and a guitar in the other, and an expression on her face that Daryl recognized from all the times he’d seen her get exactly what she wanted. Her pregnant belly just made her more intimidating.As for Paul, he looked like a cat being held by its scruff. Daryl couldn’t help but smirk. As the pair approached their table, he could hear him repeating, “Maggie, no… I’m really not good at this, seriously, please don’t make me…”





	Performance Anxiety

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AJWmagickl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJWmagickl/gifts).



> Prompt by one of my favorite fandom people, AJWmagickl <3
> 
> (more about the prompt at the end of the fic)
> 
> Mugatu used Naive Melody in her utterly fantastic Fables of the Reconstruction series, and for me it will always be Desus's song. Thanks Mugsy for letting me borrow it for this little fic <3
> 
> These are the songs mentioned:  
> The Lumineers' version of Naive Melody (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XsUAt5Z1fcs)  
> Mazzy Star "Fade Into You" (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ImKY6TZEyrI)  
> Willie Nelson's version of Georgia On My Mind (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNlw0IDFKDA)

Daryl sat at the end of one of Hilltop’s rough-hewn picnic tables wolfing down an honest-to-god steak with his bare hands and drinking some kind of fancy scotch out of a small glass jar. There were baked potatoes with butter and grilled corn, too, but Daryl had ignored those in favor of picking out the biggest steak he could find. He’d go back for the rest later.

Rick had taken one look at his plate, rolled his eyes, and pushed half of his salad onto it. Daryl hadn’t even noticed the damn salad. Must have been hidden behind the steak.

Hilltop had dedicated a large steer to the feast, the Kingdom had brought the vegetables, and Alexandria had scavenged for the liquor. Initially Daryl hadn’t thought much of Maggie’s plan for a postwar celebration, but now that the party had actually started he was very much on board with it. He closed his eyes and lifted his last bite of steak to his mouth, chewing slowly to savor it.

Beside him, Carl was paying more attention to Enid than his food. Daryl scowled and thought about swiping the kid’s plate. Before he could, Michonne caught his eye, laughed, and handed over the remaining quarter of her meat. Daryl barely hesitated before starting in on it.

He was too focused on enjoying the chow to even glance around when Michonne asked, “What’s Maggie up to with Jesus?”

Usually the mention of Paul would make Daryl look—Paul was a lot to look at—but the steak was really fucking delicious.

“Guess he’s the entertainment,” Rick replied.

“Looks like no one told him that.”

Finishing Michonne’s steak and washing it down with more scotch, Daryl finally looked up, sucking the juices off his fingers as he did. Paul, as obnoxiously handsome as ever, was being dragged towards Barrington House by a determined-looking Maggie. She had his sleeve in one hand and a guitar in the other, and an expression on her face that Daryl recognized from all the times he’d seen her get exactly what she wanted. Her pregnant belly just made her more intimidating.

As for Paul, he looked like a cat being held by its scruff. Daryl couldn’t help but smirk. As the pair approached their table, he could hear him repeating, “Maggie, no… I’m really not good at this, seriously, please don’t make me…”

The little hippy sounded miserable. Daryl’s smirk grew into a little grin. Paul teased him all the fucking time and he could never think of a good comeback until hours too late. It was nice to see him a little off-balance for once.

“You were playing my favorite song, Jesus. It’s a sign.”

“I don’t believe in _signs_ -”

“Well, I do. And you sing beautifully, sweetie, now stop _fighting_ me.” At the last words Maggie practically shoved Paul into a chair on the porch, then thrust the guitar into his hands. She turned to face the curious onlookers at the picnic tables arranged around the front of the house. “We’re gonna have some music! Jesus is going first, and… Eric, you can sing, right?” In the crowd, Eric looked like he’d swallowed a lemon. “Then Enid, and the Kingdom’s choir, and… well, anyone who wants a turn,” she finished a little lamely. She turned back to Paul. “Just one, please?”

“Maggie…”

“It’ll cheer everyone up.” The man still looked reluctant when she added, “Paul, it’ll cheer _me_ up.”

The girl knew how to get her way, that was for sure.

Paul caved. Clenching his jaw, he sat forward and gave the guitar a nervous tuning. Daryl was just sure he’d have some smartass comment for the crowd, but instead the man simply ducked his head, hiding blushing cheeks, and began strumming softly.

That’s when Daryl realized Paul wasn’t just playing at being modest; he was actually unnerved. Daryl had never seen him look that way before, hadn’t thought the bastard was capable of being flustered or embarrassed. But Paul kept his head down as he started playing a tune and singing quietly, voice shaking a little on the first words, hair covering most of his face.

Before he knew he was going to do it, Daryl instinctively called out “Louder!” with a tinge of frustration. He wanted to _hear_.

A few people laughed. Eyes jerked toward him—Rick and Michonne's with twin expressions of surprise, and Paul’s with desperation. Their eyes locked and he started singing again, louder and without the tremor.

“ _I go numb, born with a weak heart, I guess we must be having fun. The less we say about it the better, make it up as we go along…_ ”

Rick and Michonne were still staring at Daryl; he could see them in his periphery. Daryl’s eyes were locked on Paul’s oversized blue-green ones, though.

Now that he’d gotten through his false start, the man’s voice was strong, rich and beguiling. Absently, Daryl thought that the song was kind of… nice, even though it wasn’t something he’d usually like. It was soft and melodic, and a bit melancholy with the simple accompaniment of the acoustic guitar.

_“Home is where I want to be, but I guess I'm already there… I come home, he lifted up his wings, I guess that this must be the place.”_

Paul was looking right at him, and a weird little shiver went down Daryl’s spine. He realized his mouth was gaping open and snapped it shut.

He didn’t look away, though.

They’d held each other’s gaze for an uncomfortably long time by that point. Paul went from looking slightly angry to merely curious. Then his gaze slowly softened and he was just staring, watching Daryl watch him. He would glance around at the crowd occasionally but always returned to Daryl.

And as for Daryl, he thought about going back to his scotch, perhaps trying to talk to Rick and Michonne or stealing Carl’s half-eaten steak, but he found he couldn’t make himself turn away.

Paul’s voice picked up speed and strengthened for the crescendo: “ _I'm just an animal looking for a home, to share the same space for a minute or two… And you love me till my heart stops, love me till I'm dead…_ ”

Daryl frowned, closing his eyes. The song finished just a few moments later, and Daryl watched in a daze as Paul excused himself with an awkward little bow while everyone cheered and Maggie started harassing Eric.

It wasn’t until Daryl noticed Rick and Michonne silently arguing over something, Michonne gesturing with wide eyes and Rick shaking his head emphatically, that Daryl snapped out of his trance. His friends barely registered. Paul had catapulted himself towards his trailer and Daryl spun to stare after him.

Right at that moment, Paul glanced over his shoulder and their eyes met yet again. The long-haired hippie immediately flipped him off, walking backwards for a moment before turning towards his trailer.

Daryl couldn’t tell if Paul was joking around or actually angry. Without quite deciding to do so, he stood to follow.

He was halfway across open space between the tables and the trailer when someone grabbed his arm.

Michonne had one of Hilltop’s cloth napkins in her hand. “Hold up, you just ate that steak like a caveman.”

“Huh?” Daryl shook his head to clear it. “What the fuck you talking about?”

“Nothing, just… come here.” Grabbing him by the back of the neck, she swiped roughly at his mouth with the napkin like she was his granny or something. The cloth was damp. He hoped it wasn’t spit.

“Hell, Michonne, what-”

“You’ll thank me later,” she interrupted, grabbing at his right hand and scrubbing it. He was too surprised to pull away. “Thank God Tara made you take a shower this morning.”

Daryl scowled. “She’s my roommate, not my keeper.”

The possessed woman ignored him and cleaned his other hand, then gave him an appraising once over. “Alright, you’ll do. Have fun.”

She turned and hurried back to Rick before he could ask her what the fuck that had been about. Daryl sent a ‘what gives?’ look in Rick’s direction, but his brother just shook his head and waved him towards Paul’s trailer with a smile.

No one else seemed to be watching him, so Daryl chose to ignore both his crazy family and his own squirming stomach and continue his way to the trailer.

—

“Oh look, my heckler,” Paul said as Daryl approached. The whole ordeal had him feeling self-conscious. He never liked to _perform_ , and Daryl fucking Dixon shouting and staring at him had added several whole new levels of discomfort to the experience.

“Sorry, man, didn’t mean to… You’re good,” Daryl blurted out. “That song, I mean. Was real good.”

Paul blinked, startled, and felt warmth spread through his chest. He could feel himself blushing, which was just entirely unacceptable. Looking down, hiding his face with his hair for the second time that day, he said, “Oh. Well, thank you. Are you, uh, a fan of the song? The original, I mean?”

“Ain’t heard it. Or I can’t remember if I have.”

They were quiet for a moment. In the background Paul could hear Eric begin some sort of folksy tune. Maggie was on quite a rampage today.

Looking at his shy redneck visitor, Paul flicked his eyes up and down his body, assessing. Daryl was rocking back on his heels, eyes turned towards Eric on the impromptu stage.

Deciding it was worth the risk, Paul asked, “Want to hear the song? I have it on CD, I could…”

Daryl’s head snapped back to face him. He raised a hand and began chewing on his thumbnail. Paul leaned against the doorjamb of his trailer, waiting for some kind of reply, trying to discern if Daryl was nervous, offended, or both.

Finally Daryl shrugged with one shoulder, yielding. Biting his lip to keep from smiling, Paul held out his arm, gesturing the other man inside.

He took out his battered old CD player, a Sony walkman with bright yellow earbuds, as Daryl paced around the trailer, thumb still between his teeth. It made him seem even more awkward than usual, but it was also… sweet, perhaps. If he dared to think such a thing about Daryl.

“You want some wine? I, um, set some aside from Gregory’s old stash.” In for a penny, in for a pound, he figured.

“Thief,” Daryl replied with a small smile.

Taking that as an affirmative, Paul pointed him towards the bottle of Merlot on the counter, and wasn’t surprised when Daryl simply grabbed the bottle rather than pouring glasses.

Paul pulled out his book of CDs from a shelf beside the couch, flipping until he found the mix with Naive Melody. “This is a cover, but I think I like it more than the original.” The couch was covered with bits and pieces of weaponry to be cleaned and reassembled, so he hesitantly sat on the bed.

If Daryl was uncomfortable with the seating arrangement, he didn’t show it—he just plopped himself on the bed, pulling his dirty boots right up onto the quilt. Cringing, Paul toed his own shoes off and gave Daryl a pointed look. The other man followed suit, not looking a bit chagrined. One of his socks had a huge hole in the heel.

Handing over an earbud and keeping one for himself, Paul skipped to the song, trying not to think about how many of his high school and college make-out sessions had begun exactly like this. It was nice just to spend some time with Daryl, get to know Alexandria’s handsome mystery man a little better.

His mind kept going there, though, regardless of his pure intentions. Daryl was clean for once. He even smelled good. As he took a pull from the wine bottle, his biceps didn’t shine with grease and sweat like they usually would. Paul watched through his lashes as the muscles bunched slightly, as Daryl tipped his chin upwards for a drink, exposing his throat.

Then, pulling his knees to his chest, Paul forced his gaze forward and let his head hit the wall behind them. When Daryl handed over the wine, he took a few large, urgent swallows.

The song ended.

“Liked your voice better,” Daryl said easily, matter of factly, as though it wasn’t an incredibly sweet compliment. He looked comfortable, slouching on the bed against the wall.

Fuck, Paul wanted to kiss him. He calculated his chances of getting punched and figured he’d probably just get shoved away instead. Daryl’s temper had evened out some after Negan’s death.

The next song started. Daryl wasn’t rising to leave.

The blood rushed dizzyingly fast through Paul’s veins.

“Want me to get outta your hair?” Daryl finally asked, eyes somewhere around Paul’s shins.

They were friends, but the two men hadn't spent much time alone together during the war. And even though he'd found the awkward redneck attractive from the very beginning, Paul hadn't made any effort to change that. They'd both had more important things to think about.

The war was over now, though.

"Actually, do you, um, would you like to stay and listen to the rest of the CD?" When Daryl just stared at him Paul continued talking, faster and faster as he rambled. "It's a mix, twenty random songs, some with no business being on the same disc together. There are some other acoustic tracks, classic soul, um, a couple of stupid pop songs and one rap hit from the 90s... now that I say it out loud, I'm realizing those probably aren’t your genres. We could skip anything you don't like, and, um, hopefully that wouldn’t mean skipping the whole CD. You know what, I have other CDs-“

Mercifully, Daryl cut him off, shifting slightly to look at him. “It's been awhile since I've heard anything besides Rick's godawful shit. Can't be worse than that.”

“Very true,” Paul said, grimacing.

So Daryl settled in again and they sat shoulder to shoulder, passing the wine between them.

Paul skipped the rap when it came up, then one of the pop songs.

After about half an hour it began to get dark outside. Paul thought about staying put as dusk fell, making his move in the dark with music in their ears, but instead he stood and lit his lantern and a few candles around the trailer. The electric lamp in the corner worked perfectly well, but Paul ignored it as he moved back to the bed in the flickering light and slide his earbud back into his ear.

Daryl took a short swill of wine then handed it back, tapping his fingers to Mazzy Star.

The lyrics washed over Paul and he sang along to the last lines, “ _Fade into you, strange you never knew… Fade into you, I think it's strange you never knew…_ ”

Daryl turned and held his eyes again, just like he had out in front of everyone. In the privacy of the trailer it felt different, though. Intense. Charged.

God damn it.

Sometime tonight, he was going to kiss Daryl. Fuck the consequences.

Paul gulped down the rest of the wine and didn't make a move. Skipped a Taylor Swift song and didn't make a move. Watched, charmed and amused, as Daryl paid rapt attention to each song, eyes thoughtful even during a whiny emo track, and Paul still didn't make a move.

Then Willie Nelson's rendition of “Georgia On My Mind” came on and Daryl smiled at him, an irresistible little one-sided quirk of his lips, probably just because it was finally a tune he recognized.

Suddenly it was easy.

Paul turned at the waist. Gently pressed two fingers to Daryl's bristly chin. Guided their mouths together in a soft kiss, not seeking more than the simple press of warm contact. Nelson sang softly in Paul's ear, his own thudding heartbeat audible just under the music.

Daryl's lips were chapped. Aside from a slight tremble he was completely frozen, hands clenched where they rested on his thighs. Finally Paul pulled back with a small sigh. He took out his single earbud and gently tugged Daryl's free as well, switching the CD player off.

"You're really hard to read, you know." He stroked Daryl's tense neck with a thumb. "But then you always like keeping me on my toes, don’t you? Ever since that truck." He smirked just a little, trying to lightly goad the shy man into talking to him.

Daryl didn't rise to the bait. He just turned his head, like he couldn’t even look at Paul.

Shit.

Paul's heart dropped like a satellite to earth as he pulled his hand in and leaned back against the wall again, giving Daryl space. The disappointment was so much stronger than he'd expected; he took a moment to compose himself, numbing his emotions so he could speak in his usual calm tones. “Alright, I understand. Can we- can we just keep listening to music?" He tried to meet Daryl’s eyes while hiding the hurt in his own, but Daryl stubbornly stared at the quilt.

Blushing and humiliated, Paul tried again. "Daryl, I'm really sorry if I pissed you off or something. But please, please don't freak out just because I, um, I like you. I would never-“

Daryl interrupted by pressing his lips to the corner of Paul's mouth.

It was sudden, but Paul wasn't about to second guess it. After a single startled blink he was turning to fully capture Daryl's lips with his and moaning in approval, maybe a little overeagerly. He tilted his head for a better angle, tongue trying to lick into Daryl's closed mouth. When the hunter gasped he took advantage and slid in, exploring deftly but keeping things soft and light. Daryl didn't freeze up again and soon was kissing him back, matching his pace and letting his hands rest lightly on Paul's shoulders.

God, it was good. He was soaring and drowning and basking lazily like a cat in a sunbeam all at once, because a moment ago he'd thought he'd fucked everything up and now he was making out with Daryl Dixon, stroking his muscled shoulder with one hand.

Daryl's hand landed high on his thigh, probably by accident, and Paul had to bite back a pathetic whimper.

He needed to pull himself together.

It had just been _so_ long and Daryl felt _so_ good. Even before the war, getting laid during the apocalypse wasn't easy. Paul couldn't remember a more perfect first kiss in his life, and finally having Daryl--not just having him, but having him in a soft bed, by candlelight, with the taste of red wine on their tongues, safe and warm and with a good meal in their bellies…

 _Don't get ahead of yourself, Rovia, ‘having’ Daryl might not be on the menu_ , he thought ruefully, even as he tangled his hand in the other man’s hair to hold him where he was. The last thing he wanted to do was spook the skittish man. Waiting wouldn't kill him.

Then Daryl made a soft little noise in his throat, fingers unconsciously grasping a handful of Paul's shirt, and Paul had to mentally rephrase: waiting _probably_ wouldn't kill him.

—

Daryl couldn’t believe Paul was doing this--at first he'd honest to god thought it was a prank, maybe a stupid dare from Maggie. Paul was always doing stupid shit.

He’d always admired the handsome scout the way he would a model on a billboard, or the way he used to think, sometimes, about the hero in the Fast and Furious movies. Merle always insisted on sneaking into the theater to see the car chases and explosions on the big screen, and Daryl would go with him to peer guiltily at the scruffy blond actor with the soft blue eyes.

Men like that were nice to look at and might occasionally make an appearance in his half-formed fantasies in the shower, but they weren't for the likes of Daryl Dixon. Actually being with Paul, getting to touch him, wasn't something Daryl had ever really considered possible.

They were touching now, though.

That brought Daryl to his senses, made him focus. This wasn't a day dream in a hot shower back in Alexandria. Daryl was kissing a guy he genuinely liked, a guy he apparently had some kind of _chance_ with, and here he was, sitting cross-legged against the wall kissing at an awkward angle like a complete dumbass, letting Paul get a crick in his neck. Wasting a perfectly good bed.

Paul's bed. He was in _Paul's bed_.

Fuck. He went from half-hard to full mast at the thought.

Surging forward into the kiss, Daryl kept pushing, tumbling them to the pillows with a hand in Paul’s long hair. Then he broke the kiss and sat up in his knees, flicking his eyes down the compact body spread out on the small bed.

Paul’s chest rose and fell rapidly under his baggy white shirt. His eyes were dark as his tongue swiped quickly across smiling lips, his hair tucked neatly behind his ears but falling into disarray across the green pillow beneath him.

He was beautiful. The word wasn't one Daryl used often, but it was the only one that fit Paul. Daryl liked everything: the smug smile, the wide, clear eyes, the small waist, the long neck, the lean muscles of his arms. They stared at each other, Paul blinking with slow, feline calm while Daryl's eyes fluttered rapidly.

Then Paul reached up and yanked Daryl down on top of him by the shirt.

Daryl laughed, catching himself with one elbow. His laughter died almost instantly as he realized that there was a hard dick hot against one side of his stomach. His own hard-on had to be just as obvious, flush with Paul's hip. Fighting his instinct to move away and hide--and fighting another instinct to find Paul's length with his hand--Daryl joined their lips again instead. The delicious smell of him was overwhelming, something masculine and heady with a sweet overlay from his shampoo.

Paul must have been holding back with that polite kiss before, because now his tongue was plundering. Even better, his hands roved freely over Daryl's upper body, stroking his arms from shoulder to bicep over and over, sneaking between them where Daryl was propped to one side to brush nails against his chest, running fingers down his sides and causing him to shudder, ticklish, then skimming up his neck and burrowing into his hair again.

Good thing his hair was clean for once. Tara and Michonne crossed Daryl’s mind then, god damned know-it-all women, but he pushed them forcefully out of his head half a second later when Paul groaned into the kiss.

Nimble hands went to Daryl's back and pulled downward insistently, so Daryl stopped propping himself up and let his body press Paul into the mattress. Still kissing heatedly, Paul’s hands held Daryl firmly in place, one pressing on his lower back and the other rubbing between his shoulder blades.

Daryl realized that the thick, ropey texture of his worst scars probably weren't masked by his thin shirt. Paul had probably already seen them, though—their little militia had lived in very close quarters towards the end of the war, and privacy had been nonexistent. The image of Paul zipping and buttoning his pants without a shirt was burned into Daryl's brain.

Then again, so was the horrifying memory of Enid and some gal from the Kingdom stumbling over Daryl himself, bare-assed in a shallow creek, trying to wash up a little.

Paul called his attention back to the kiss with a sharp little bite to his upper lip. Grunting, Daryl lost control of his hips for a moment, grinding his dick filthily against the warm body below him. Then he did it again because fuck, it felt good, a shock of heady pleasure rushing up his spine. Daryl made himself stop after the third time, not wanting to seem like a horny teenager. Closing his eyes, he tried to refocus on Paul's demanding mouth.

It didn't last. Daryl's eyes flew open again seconds later when Paul thrust up against his stomach as if in revenge, moaning, long eyelashes fluttering over his crystal blue eyes. His cheeks were flushed above his beard and his dick dragged against Daryl just below his belly button.

Hands moving to Daryl's waist and gripping tight, Paul ground upward again.

And again.

And Daryl was losing his mind.

Then there were hands on his ass, kneading encouragingly as Paul thrust against him again, and after that Daryl shifted up and their hips moved in unison in slow, decadent circles to rub their dicks together through their clothes. The men’s kiss lost any semblance of rhythm, the angle slightly awkward.

Glancing down, he saw that Paul's shirt had ridden up slightly. Instinctively he reached for the bared skin, then pushed the white shirt up a bit farther to curl his hand around Paul's waist, feeling his muscles contract and relax as they kissed slow and wet.

—

"Trying to get me naked?" Paul half-teased, panting, praying the answer was yes.

“Fuck yeah," Daryl replied instantly, sounding completely earnest as he stroked Paul's obliques. He coughed a little and repeated, ”Yeah. Please.”

That 'please' did things to him. Paul got a hand behind Daryl's neck and reeled him down to kiss him again, hard. Meanwhile Daryl slide the tips of his fingers down the man's sides and into his waistband. Chuckling, Paul broke the kiss and whispered, "You can, if you’re sure you want to.”

Daryl flipped their position so Paul was on top and yanking his shirt over his head in just a few quick movements. Suddenly half-naked, Paul's arms came up instinctively around his chest. Daryl’s hands were already going for his belt.

"Hey now," Paul said, hands moving to the buttons at the bottom of Daryl's shirt. "Fair's fair.”

He caught the spark of anxiety on Daryl's face and knew why it was there, but the man nevertheless gave a sharp nod and reached for his collar. Paul felt a surge of helpless affection. He'd seen Daryl do far braver things, of course, but this one hit him all the same. He paused in undoing the buttons and stroked Daryl's cheek with one hand, stretching up to peck his forehead.

When he pulled back Daryl undid his top button. Smirking, wanting to recapture the playful mood, Paul batted Daryl's hands away from his shirt. “Let me," he said, “God knows I’ve been practicing with my eyes for long enough.”

Daryl squinted up at him with that look that meant he thought Paul was utterly ridiculous, and for a moment things seemed so jarringly normal between them that Paul almost laughed aloud.

Then the black shirt was undone and peeled from Daryl's shoulders and Paul set about exploring. He was straddling Daryl's hips so he started with his hands, running them over tattoos and trying to ignore the scars. They were worse than he'd thought--he'd only caught a couple of brief glimpses of Daryl changing clothes, never wanting to linger when the man clearly hated being on display. The largest scar curved around his side from his back, but there were plenty more small marks scattered in front, everywhere a sleeveless shirt would cover. Paul didn't dwell on them, Daryl's pleasure in this moment more important than the pain in his distant past.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down and pressing a soft kiss over Daryl's heart. Catching how the man gasped when he leaned in, Paul sat up and smirked, wriggled down a little--and the wriggling had Daryl gasping again, his eyes scrunching shut. Then Paul began kissing and licking his way up from an adorable, slightly soft stomach to a firm chest.

—

Ok, so Paul was a fucking scoundrel, hiding behind those innocent-looking eyes while he sat his ass right on Daryl's dick like it was some kind of accident. He was the last person who should be going by the name _Jesus_ ; Daryl would tell him so as soon as he could catch his breath.

The man's mouth was devastating, alternating between kitten licks and love bites, tracing the edge of Daryl's nipple with his tongue before mouthing wetly over his collar bone.

A ragged whine tore from Daryl's throat and he was lifting his hips before he knew what was happening. The idea of it—his dick rubbing against Paul’s ass--just made him even harder, losing control further and faster. There was nothing shy about his next thrust, hands coming to Paul's hips as that skilled mouth slid to work his other nipple.

"Ah!" Daryl gasped, back arching as Paul bit the nub, then sucked hard. He pulled the man down against him in a building rhythm, breath coming quicker.

"Shit," Paul hissed, pulling away suddenly and yanking open his belt. Frantic, Daryl did the same, pushing his jeans and boxers down to mid-thigh.

Paul licked his palm and wrapped his hand around both of them, eyes glued to where they pressed together. Daryl had never done it that way—he hadn’t done it many ways at all, truthfully—but he _needed_ his hand on Paul, so he joined in regardless. Paul groaned from above him as Daryl hesitantly wrapped his hand around both of them and used his hips to create even more friction, their fingers tangling clumsily over their hard lengths.

They couldn’t kiss without crushing their hands between them, so instead Daryl used his free hand to swipe Paul’s hair away from his face so he could _watch_. He looked up into those eyes that always seemed to be meeting his until they closed in a shock of pleasure.

Daryl went breathless at the feeling of hot come—Paul’s come, fucking hell—landing on his stomach, his hand, his arm, his dick. Then Paul’s smaller hand was using it as slick, gliding over him roughly, and- and-

When he came back to himself they were side by side on the small mattress, staring at the ceiling of the trailer.

—

Drifting slowly down from his high, Paul couldn’t keep the grin off his face—because that had really just happened. He’d just seduced Daryl almost by accident, complete with romantic music and wine and candlelight.

Suppressing an immature desire to pump his fist,  he looked over to make sure Daryl wasn’t freaking out. Hazy eyes turned towards him, looking a little shell-shocked but not panicky.

Paul realized he was still grinning when Daryl’s lips twitched up as well. Then they both were grinning stupidly at each other, chests still heaving, topless with their pants rumpled and twisting in uncomfortable places.

“You got maybe a minute to kick me out, otherwise I’m sleeping here,” Daryl said, voice lazy, reaching to tug Paul’s shirt from under the smaller man’s hips. Without asking, he began to use it to mop himself up.

Staring unabashedly at the sight of Daryl’s stomach covered in both of their come, Paul’s grin got a little cockier. “Can’t imagine I’d ever want to kick you out of bed, Dixon.”

Daryl snorted, and Paul thought he looked awfully pleased with himself, too.

—

The next morning Daryl’s family was having their own farewell breakfast together in Maggie's office, away from the crowded communal tables.

The room got silent when Daryl entered, the whole group smiling expectantly at him.

Daryl already regretted showing up. Apparently Rick and Michonne couldn't keep a damn secret for twelve fucking hours. Daryl wondered if they'd even made it until the end of Eric’s performance. Other than a wide smile and side hug from Michonne, a punch in the shoulder from Maggie, and Rick's had clasping his shoulder for an extra-long moment, they were on their best behavior.

That is, Daryl _thought_ they were on their best behavior, right until Enid came in leading a confused and hesitant Paul Rovia. He stood awkwardly in the doorway, resisting the girl’s tugging hand—he knew this was supposed to be a time for the family to say goodbye before dispersing again. Daryl had told him fifteen minutes before.

“Jesus! Come join us," Rick said heartily, waving him in.

“Yeah, come sit by me,” Carol called, “Both of you. We saved you seats.”

The seats were smack in the middle of the room.

Looking around warily, Paul walked to join Daryl at the side table where bowls of oatmeal with nuts and banana chips sat ready.

“Someone's going to ask me my intentions, right?” Paul whispered. "Polish a shotgun? Tell me to have you home from the prom by midnight?”

Daryl shrugged, scowling darkly at Rick, who just raised his eyebrows and smirked back at him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> My smut is *always* awkward, and AJW kinda hates writing awkwardness, so... we decided months ago to challenge each other to write something out of our wheelhouse. She wanted Paul singing straight to Daryl, Daryl being lovestruck, and then romantic fireworks.
> 
> Yeah, this fic is my honest-to-god attempt at romance without awkwardness.
> 
> I kinda failed. But it was still fun to write. Thanks AJW :-D
> 
> I tortured her with the most awkward prompt I could think of and she rocked it, check hers out here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/10947603


End file.
